 | Songs and Lyrics |  |
10
Annie.
Coal black are the tresses of Fanny;
But never a mortal could see
The coal-coloured tresses of Annie,
And be as a body should be.
But never a mortal could see
The coal-coloured tresses of Annie,
And be as a body should be.
White, white, is her forehead, and bonnie;
And when she goes down to the well,
The beat of the footstep of Annie,
The wrath of a tiger would quell.
And when she goes down to the well,
The beat of the footstep of Annie,
The wrath of a tiger would quell.
Red, red, are her round cheeks and bonnie;
And when she is knitting, her tone—
The charm of the accents of Annie,
Would ravish the heart of a stone.
And when she is knitting, her tone—
The charm of the accents of Annie,
Would ravish the heart of a stone.
Nay, rare are her graces and many;
But nothing whatever can be
Compared to the sweet glance of Annie,
The glance she has given to me.
But nothing whatever can be
Compared to the sweet glance of Annie,
The glance she has given to me.
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